


067 - Fluffy Little Moment at Breakfast

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 03:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “I was thinking about how cute it would be to write a fic about if van serenaded you/the reader. Like whilst your making your breakfast or something and you just fall in love with him all over again? Just a cute sort of thing?”





	067 - Fluffy Little Moment at Breakfast

You looked at the pancake in the pan. The pale shade of green wasn’t the issue; it was the uneven rate at which it was cooking. Van came and stood behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and his head sat on your shoulder.

“Why’s it green?”

“Matcha. I’m trying something new. It’s not cooking right though,”

“Maybe because it’s green. Can you make some normal ones too?”

You frowned and nodded. The matcha pancakes were not a success, but you had had the foresight not to use the entire jug of batter on them. You started to cook regular pancakes as Van brewed the tea. He was humming, and as he got into the melody, he started to whisper the words under his breath. You turned around and leant against the bench. His back was to you, and his hips were swaying back and forth while he measured out the loose leaf tea. When the water was added, he turned around.

“Don’t ya love her madly. Don’t ya need her badly,” he started to sing at you. You grinned and he took a step forward. He held one hand across his heart, and the other was up like a dramatic opera singer. “Don’t ya love her ways. Tell me what you say. Don’t ya love her madly,” his voice had dropped low and he was doing his best to channel Jim Morrison. Van’s pasty skin and sharp bones weren’t exactly on par, but you did love him more.

“Please don’t sing the next line.” He held out a hand to you, you took it and he pulled you into his arms and bent you over in a dance.

"Wanna be her daddy,” he sung. You laughed in amusement and disgust. Van lifted you back up, and spun you under his arched arm. He let go and you went back to the pancakes, flipping a few. He kept singing from behind you. “Don’t ya love her face. I do, actually, babe. I love your face.” The transition from his Morrison voice to his regular speaking voice was jarring but humanly beautiful.

“Thanks,”

“Don’t ya love her as she’s walkin’ out the door. Like she did one thousand times before.”

You stacked the pancakes onto a plate and put them on the small round table in the kitchen. Van put the tea on the table, and started to collect the jam, lemon juice, sugar and maple syrup. He kept singing. When everything was ready to go, you sat down. Van did not.

“Don’t ya love her ways. Tell me what you say. Don’t ya love her as she’s walkin’ out the door,”

“Van, I will walk out the door with all of these pancakes if you don’t sit down and eat.”

He grinned and leant his arms on the table, looking straight at you. He knew your frustration was fake, and you did your best to hold back a smile. “All your love. All your love. Alllllllll yourrrr laaaaaaaaalove. All your love is gone. You sing a lonely song. Of a deep blue dream. Seven horses seem to be on the mark.” He stepped back and started to dance and it was ridiculous to watch. "Yeahhhhhhhhhh!“ He belt out the word and it sounded really, really fucking good. You laughed. "Don’t you love her. Don’t you love her as she’s walking out the door.” He cut the song short and dramatically fell into a chair. You shook your head at him, still grinning. “What?” he asked as he stabbed at a pancake and put it on his plate. You watch him coat it with too much jam and put too much in his mouth at once.

“I love you,”

“I love you too,” he replied with his mouth full of pancake. God, you really fucking loved him.


End file.
